"As You Were"
Pinty dog jabs split staccato punc- into the atmosphere. I leave the shades dimmed shut. Some doors
pluck open, some stay sealed. As grayness holds. Most novelists I know write look-backs.
Splinters of mismatch with uber-availability of facts. I breathe, therefore explore. Amid the bales
of indignation by untutored mammals mimicking parental stasis. In the meantime, mid-lines rarely
crossed seem fixed ideas. When the doorbell rings, it is persuasion seeking to perform its rote bit.
Hillsides better for the leg muscles of strangers. Weaving is its own excuse for indecision.
Watch. A parrot that might save this day provides ear training for the gullible. Finding at an impasse
selves at speeds continually various.
Gender studies, wake-up calls arriving like points of a bell choir, prompt tones marking this hour, that,
Sheila E Murphy